


Worlds Away

by SaloonMistress74



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon Conversation, Dalish Elven Culture and Customs, Dalish Elves, Elvhenan, F/M, POV Solas, Reading Between The Lines, Self-Discovery, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-23 05:40:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6106731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaloonMistress74/pseuds/SaloonMistress74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has a mission: to bring down the Veil and restore his world. Can a small, mundane, elven woman help him to see that her world is beautiful in its own way, that just because it's different, doesn't mean it's not worth loving? Could he be brought to give up his vengeance, his world and his immortality? Told from mostly Solas' point of view, from the beginning of Inquisition, through trespasser and beyond.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Whole New World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shywriter74](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shywriter74/gifts).



> This is for my sister, who begged for me to speak with Solas' voice and tell his story. I'm grateful to her because I kinda love it.

Solas had finally reached Haven with the small band of rogues, warriors and mages that had battled to close the rift that connected to the breach in the Veil. He was so bone weary that he could barely stand, leaning heavily on his staff.

He had still not recovered from his millennia long slumber, and even having been awake again for months, it surprised him how quickly he tired and how frustrating it was to be unable to call to the power within him in an instant, when it had only ever taken a thought to shape the world around him, his imagination being the only limit to his reach and influence.

Everything in this world seemed so painfully and unbearably slow. Everything took so much effort, as though the air around him was as thick as gelatin.

When the Fade had once been a part of his own environment, it had responded to his whim with an instinct that was absolute, the process; seamless, and now to conjure any kind of magic meant that he first had to laboriously connect with the Fade on the other side of the Veil and then go through the grueling process of instructing the once intuitive Fade to do what he wanted it to do.

Solas had spent countless days pondering how the mages of this time could even stand it, but in the limited experience he had with them since his awakening, they seemed numb and dumb to the fact that there should be so much more than they had access to.

He shivered.

As the group passed through the main gates to the secluded village, he watched as some soldiers dragged a litter behind them to a small hut just inside the gates, carrying the unconscious body of the woman bearing the mark of his power.

He itched to touch it again.

Solas had sat with the elven woman for hours after she’d been found at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the power of the mark calling to him, bringing him to the human army that was investigating the explosion and the subsequent breach in the sky.

Something had gone terribly wrong with his plan to unlock his orb. The Tevinter Magister should have unlocked it alone, away from others. Solas had sensed his power, but thought him “human” enough to clumsily unlock it, unknowing that it would destroy him and he would never gain that power. Somehow Corypheus had discovered that he would have to create an anchor to be able to harness the power of the orb, and in true Tevinter fashion, used blood magic to create it… but how did this slip of a girl gain it? What had happened to the Magister and how was he supposed to fix the tear without his orb? If he was to bring down the Veil, it had to be whole and he had to wield his full power to do it.

If he was to have any success with his plan, his only choice was to stick with this ragtag group of refugees and heretics…and with _her…_ for now.

“Solas –“ A strong Nevarran accent interrupted his thoughts.

“Seeker,” he responded, slumping his shoulders slightly and bowing his head in such a way that he didn’t appear to be a threat, donning his disguise as a simple elven apostate.

Cassandra Pentaghast eyed him shrewdly for a moment before addressing him again. Solas knew that he had to be careful around the perceptive warrior, lest he reveal something that would give his intentions away.

He willed himself to don a look of acquiescence as he waited for her to continue.

“Apothecary Adan is still in the Valley of Sacred Ashes with the soldiers there. We will need you to see to the pris– to the young lady, for now. You seem to know more about her mark than any other.”

“I am merely good at guessing, Seeker. But I shall endeavour to do my best with my meager talents, of course."

She grunted.

“You seemed to hold your own in the valley. I would hardly call your talents “meager”, Solas. But I should thank you, if you would try. I believe that she is…important.”

“I understand, Seeker,” Solas bowed his head again, “I would be happy to do what I can.”

The Seeker gestured to the small cabin that the soldiers had brought the woman to and Solas went inside, immediately taking a chair over to sit beside the bed she’d been placed upon.

“Do you have any idea how long she’ll remain unconscious?” Cassandra asked, slight concern seeping into her voice, though she tried to remain apathetic.

 _Curious_ , Solas thought. This small female seemed to endear herself to others rather effortlessly. He’d seen the same thing happen with the dwarf, Varric.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he answered honestly. “At best I could guess that she used a tremendous amount of her own energy to connect to that rift at the temple. She’d also closed so many others before we’d even got there. I imagine that that would…take a lot out of a person, especially one not used to such demands on her energy.”

“But she _is_ a mage, Solas. How could she not be used to wielding magic?”

Solas shook his head. _What these people don’t understand astounds me. They are such children._

“This is not like any other magic that exists in _this_ world, Seeker, and it certainly isn’t _her_ magic. It responds to her, to be sure, but it isn’t a natural part of her as her natural connection to the Fade is. That connection only requires part of her energy, mana, to fuel its transition into the magic she brings forth, however this magic is so foreign to her that it seems to require more of her energy than the mana can provide, taking that which her body uses to maintain its health and stamina as well. How she’ll be able to use it, how it will affect her, remains to be seen. Perhaps in time, I might be able to devise a way to help her focus it through the appropriate channels so that it no longer depletes her. I will consult the ancient memories of the Fade in this matter, but it will take me some time to discover it and then help her.”

He smiled, pleased that he had just made himself invaluable to them. Of course he could teach her how to use something created by _his_ magic. He’d already done it once when he’d first shown her how to close a rift. He needed to ingrain himself into their organization and to be able to have some freedoms within it for as long as it took to fix the breach and reclaim his orb.

“I’m afraid that I can offer you no further insight into the consequences of this development until she awakens and we can observe her in action once again.”

“I see. Thank you, Solas,” the Seeker seemed satisfied with his response. “I will leave you now, but I will post someone outside the door…should you need anything.”

_Still don’t trust me, Seeker? You’re more clever than I thought._

Cassandra inclined her head to him politely and made her exit.

As soon as she was gone, Solas turned to the bed and snatched up the marked hand. It pulsed with life as soon as he touched it.

The elven woman attached to it moaned in her sleep as though it was hurting her.

Solas sent a wave of healing magic through the mark, his familiar frequency reuniting with that of the anchor, calming and fortifying it. It sputtered and then rested. He’d done the same when the woman had first been found, but using it to close the enormous rift must have destabilized it once again.

He knew that there would be countless rifts opening up from the breach throughout Thedas and theorized that if she used the anchor to close them all, the anchor would not remain stabilized for long. Without his help, she likely only had a few years before a slow spread of its magic consumed her. It was a shame, but couldn’t be helped.

He looked down from the hand he was holding to examine her as he hadn’t had the opportunity to before when she’d been held in the cell under the Chantry.

As mundane as she was, she was pretty-ish, with her milky white skin, made very pale by her ordeal, and inky black hair that was fanned across the pillow. One side of her head was shaved and topped with a long braid, reminding him of the style he’d once worn millennia ago before he took a blade and shaved his head to renounce his own vanity and his connection to those who valued it. Once that particular style had denoted a mastery of magic and two sides of the head shaved, as his had been, was reserved for those considered gods, not only the masters of magic, but masters of all.

Solas shook the memories from his mind. It wouldn’t do to dwell on those old resentments now.

In the firelight he could clearly see the markings of her vallaslin, blood writing, on her face, the ironbark branches of Mythal gracing her brow and slender nose. His stomach turned at the sight of the slave markings, something he’d fought so hard against with his Evanuris brethren. Only Mythal had been on his side, giving her followers the ability to choose whether or not to accept the tattoos and taking them from them if they requested it.

If this woman’s vallaslin had been in tribute to any other “Creator”, Solas feared that he wouldn’t be able to look at her with anything other than revulsion. As it was, he chose to look upon the tribute to Mythal as a reminder of what he was working toward, a token of his lost friend.

The young woman shifted in her sleep and the hand he held squeezed his in a reflex to seek comfort.

 _You’re a mystery,_ he thought as he squeezed back and felt her relax once more. _I believe that I will enjoy uncovering the secrets you hold._


	2. The Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keeping the Dread Wolf on his toes.

So the Inquisition had been declared. All around Solas, banners and declarations were being posted around the small village. A line had been drawn in the sand when it came to the Chantry and they even had the heretical “Herald of Andraste” to prove it.

Solas laughed to himself as he thought of the young Dalish woman that they had raised to so lofty a position.

Upon waking, Ellana Lavellan had been met by a reverent crowd outside her cabin door. Solas had watched quietly from a distance as she’d stepped out into the masses. She’d stopped short at first. Confronted with the sight, she seemed to be confused and wary as he would expect for someone who had grown up among the Dalish.

Immediately, many of those gathered had fallen to their knees and declared her their Herald. Solas could hear their whispers through his extraordinary senses. As she took her first tentative steps through the crowd, he could hear their hushed awe, proclaiming her strength in battle, her courage and valor. They proclaimed her touched by Divinity and it rankled him, knowing how thoughts like that could go terribly wrong, and yet he watched as those words settled uneasily on her shoulders. It made her uncomfortable and he could see no stirrings of vanity in her composure.

_Curious._

Some wealthy benefactor had given an expensive set of leather robes to the ‘Herald’. He’d watched as Cassandra had brought them into the cabin as she’d slept.

As she’d moved through the crowd and their whispers reached her, under their weighty stares, those heavy robes had seemed to irritate her. She’d tugged at the cream coloured leather as she’d walked and twice she’d reached for a staff at her back that was not there.

Yes. She’d been very uncomfortable.

His mind turned to the present as he watched the Inner Council of the Inquisition as they stood at the doors of the Chantry, making their speeches to the gathered crowd. The spymaster’s agents fanned out to spread the word to those who weren’t present.

Lavellan shifted her weight awkwardly and scuffed her pristine halla-skin boots in the dirt, an obviously nervous gesture. Though the others repeatedly drew attention to her, she seemed determined to remain in the background, standing behind the broad Commander as often as possible.

When her part seemed to be done and the others began addressing certain parties in the crowd to delegate duties, Solas was fascinated to see how easily and effortlessly she disengaged from so many people without truly having been noticed.

Was it simply because she was an elf and people so often dismissed their presence out of habit? Or perhaps she was simply skilled at remaining undetected, though not quite as much as he was as he watched and followed her, under the glamour of stealth.

She was such a enigma to him, this young thing.

_She can’t be more than in her mid-twenties_ , he thought. _She’s so young and yet there is something in her eyes and her manner that I can’t quite place._

As he watched her, hoping to puzzle her out, she made her way to the blacksmith, just outside of the main gates.

Harritt, the grizzled master blacksmith, approached her immediately. He was smiling underneath an enormous mustache.

“I expected you’d be by,” he said as a way of greeting her. “I’m Harritt…and everyone knows who you are.’

She flushed red and seemed to turn into herself, pulling her shoulders in, making herself smaller, before sighing and straightening herself again.

_Good girl,_ Solas thought, with grudging admiration.

Since he’d woken up from his long sleep, he’d seen too many elves, both the Dalish and those in the cities, make themselves too small, too often. It had been something that angered him easily.

Harritt seemed not to notice. “How’s the gear fit?” he asked, gesturing to the fancy leather robes that she wore.

They really were quite beautiful, the cream of the halla leather complemented her pale skin while the dark brown of the bear leather, great bear if he was not mistaken, that lined and trimmed it, kept the cream colour from washing her out. The jerkin underneath, the cowl and the sash were all a burnt orange colour that leant a peachy glow to her skin and the metal scales that protected her arms, the neck piece, as well as the accents down the front and back were made of a brilliant golden sunstone.

Yes, quite attractive.

Her answer to the blacksmith surprised him then.

“It’s not exactly what I’m used to,” she said as she pulled again at the robes.

“Hmph,” the blacksmith snorted. “Wrong time for style to dictate what you wear. World’s gone mad. Stock armour and blades are good against bandits, but we’re not fighting bandits. My gear will see you through demons, apostates, whatever this world throws at you.”

He walked around the Herald, observing his work. “That’s some good armour I’ve made you. Maker, did that noble pay me a fortune to do it too. Halla isn’t easy to come by in these parts. What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing, Master Harritt…”

“Just Harritt.”

She nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with it at all, Harritt. I’m just not used to something as fine as this and, to be perfectly honest, I’m having a hard time wearing it in the village when everyone keeps staring at me. It’s beautiful and I know that it would be an asset in battle, but I’m not sure that it sends the kind of message I would like to the people here.”

Harritt eyed her curiously, but said nothing as she continued.

“I know what people are saying about me and I can’t give them any better explanation as to what happened in the Valley and what happened to give me this mark…” she sighed, “I don’t know what it all means and I don’t have any idea what I’m doing, but I do know that I don’t want anyone to think that I’m not willing to work, to do my best or to give what’s necessary to this cause. I don’t want people to think that I’m something that I’m not. Regardless of the title that they give me, I’m still just a recruit, like all the others that have come to Haven. I haven’t earned my place here yet. I’m willing to, but I haven’t done it yet. I’m just the First of a small Dalish clan that was in the wrong place at the wrong time…”

“Or the right place at the right time,” Harritt corrected.

Ellana smiled at him. “Be that as it may, Serah. Robes this fine, as appreciative as I am and as expertly as they have been made, suggest that I am something that I’m not and I believe it could send the wrong message in these sensitive times.”

“I take your meaning, girl.” Solas watched as Harritt seemed to give her a look of approval.

“So you need custom work? Something special for the work you’ll be sent out to do? You bring the materials to us. We’ll make it happen.”

Ellana laughed and pointed at the armour that she was wearing. “Will these materials do? If I want something made out of this, what can you make?”

Harritt’s deep rumble followed hers. “Aye, those materials will do. Start simple. Something to keep you safe. You take a look at the design I have on the table over there and we’ll talk.”

Solas sat on a crate near the table, cloaked from their sight, and watched as the two went over their plan to repurpose the armour to make a simpler set of leathers, tunic and an easily worn apprentice coat. Harritt suggested that there would be more than enough material to make two sets of gloves and boots as well so that she could switch them out on the road when she left for the Hinterlands.

Ellana Lavellan had the surly blacksmith wrapped around her little finger without so much as an ounce of guile or artifice.

Solas found that he was strangely pleased by her honesty, it was not something he was used to. Before the Veil, Arlathan was a viper’s pit of lies and deceit and from what he understood, this time was no better, between the intrigues of the Chantry and the Game played by all of Orlais. He was very used to seeing behind the ruses dangled before him. He laughed at the attempts of others to deceive him as he’d become such a master of it himself that he was known as the Great Deceiver. He was in fact counting on that mastery now to make his way toward his goal to bring down the Veil once more…but _her…_ she was unexpected.

Harritt gave her a small bundle and ushered her into his cabin before he went back to his crafting table. When she emerged from the blacksmith’s cabin she had donned a simple tan tunic over her leather breeches. It was a horrible colour on her, but she seemed infinitely more comfortable. Her steps were much lighter as she went to the table and left behind her stunning leather robes to be pulled apart and remade.

Solas followed behind as she made her way back to her own cabin. He couldn’t help but notice that she had a lovely form and that she moved with grace.

He frowned at himself and his thoughts.

He had no room for such fanciful musings…and yet, he had to admit that he was enjoying unravelling her mystery. Everything he observed about her was like a tantalizing clue to something even greater, he couldn’t leave her be. It was as though, when she had arrived in Haven, marked by his magic, he’d felt the whole world change.

Tomorrow he decided that he would speak with her, try to gain her confidence and ferret whatever information he could out of her, to assess her character to give him a better picture of how she might fit into his plans.

He was in the realm of the unknown with this beguiling creature and found that he couldn’t find it within himself to wish it otherwise.

_Curious._


	3. What Kind of Hero?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first conversation...

Solas woke, disoriented for a time. The Fade still felt more natural to him than the waking world and it disturbed him greatly when he had to return from it.

He’d just spent long hours walking with Wisdom through the ancient park nestled in the center of the crystal spires and monuments of Arlathan. His friend had brought comfort to him, as always, with the pure ease of the conversation. With Wisdom, there was no need for pretense. He could speak as himself, open and honestly and be rewarded with intelligent and balanced insights into his situation.

They spoke together of Ellana Lavellan, the bearer of his anchor, and the consensus was that he should maintain his position of observation for the time being. He would play along with the Inquisition and its ‘Herald of Andraste’ as they continued on their course to find a way to close the breach in the sky. He needed answers and they weren’t readily presenting themselves. He would have to bide his time.

* * *

Solas had just finished dressing when he heard a light tapping, like that of a knock, coming from outside. It wasn’t his door. No one had bothered him since they’d battled the Pride demon and closed the rift. All the members of the Inquisition gave him a wide berth and he couldn’t tell if they were frightened of him or if they simply ignored him.

Regardless, Solas cracked his door to peer out into the dark morning, the dawn’s light barely making the cabins visible.

Someone stood at the Apothecary’s door, a large satchel slung over their shoulder.

Adan answered it by poking his head out, a candle illuminated his features strangely as he held it out from his chin. “What do you want?”

“Good Morning, Serah. I do hope it’s not too early. I saw your candle in the window and hoped that someone would be in your workshop. You see, I’ve been out gathering elfroot this morning and I have far more than I need at present. I’d hoped that you might be able to make use of it?”

It was the Herald. Her sweet voice filled the space between the cabins.

“Alright,” grumbled the apothecary, “let me see what you’ve got then.”

He opened the door wide enough for Ellana to squeeze through and slammed it shut.

Solas cloaked himself in magic and made his way to the window to observe.

Adan placed the candle back on his large desk before turning to address the Herald.

“Well, look who’s back from the dead. Again.” He quipped dryly.

Solas could see the little flush that tinted the tips of her ears from his vantage point.

“I’m sorry. I don’t recall meeting you before.”

“I’d be surprised if you did. You weren’t exactly coherent.” He scoffed and took the satchel from her to dump the contents onto the drying table. “Someone had to patch you up after you staggered out of Maker-knows-where, though, so you’re welcome.”

“I didn’t realize. Thank you,” she offered sincerely.

“Yeah, well. You can pay me back by fixing the world.”

He seemed pleased enough with her offerings and gave her a wry smile, quite transforming his intimidating scowl.

“Name’s Adan. I’m in charge of keeping our little band here stocked with potions and elixirs. Not that Seeker Pentaghast seems to care whether we’ve got the supplies to actually _do_ that.

He began to sort through the plants, ripping off damaged or diseased parts and throwing them into a small compost bucket in the corner of the room.

Ellana retrieved her satchel and a small bundle of plants that she’d tied together from the pile and let the crotchety man continue his perusal.

“I’m happy to share with you what I gather. I’m used to gathering for my clan, so it’s no bother.”

Adan seemed to assess the elf before him, waiting to see if she might angle for some favour perhaps. Solas watched as well. When she didn’t, the apothecary smiled.

“Yeah, alright. I won’t say no to that. Maker knows we’re going to get more people here before long and I’ll need all the help I can get.”

“I also know how to mix some potions. I’m not sure if the Dalish do it differently, but I’m a quick study and I’m willing to help if there’s anything that I can do to help out.”

Her sincerity staggered Solas. Could she truly be that altruistic?

Adan waved his hand to dismiss her offer. “We’re fine as far as raw labour goes. You’ve more important things to do than tend to me.”

He paused for a moment, as though he was unsure that he should add something. “I only wish I’d been able to find Master Taigen’s notes. Old bastard was working on something special. He died at the Conclave, and his notes weren’t here. Been too busy dealing with the wounded to look for them.”

He hesitated again. “Uh…would you…”

“I’d be happy to keep my eye out for them, Adan.”

“Well, yeah. Thanks then,” he said, obviously not used to such transparent kindness.

“Listen, you need something made,” he gestured around to the herbs hanging around the room, “you let me know.”

Ellana just smiled and nodded to him. “I will. Thank you, Adan.”

When she went toward the door of the workshop, Solas left his spot by the window, uncloaked himself and stood by his own door, as though he’d just left the comfort of his cabin.

The Herald stepped out into the early morning light with a cheerful wave, but stopped short when she nearly ran into Solas.

“Oh! Solas. _Ir abelas_. Forgive me. I didn’t think anyone would be out at this time of morning.”

“ _Tel’abelas, da’len_. I’m happy to see another out, enjoying the fresh morning.

A light came to her eyes.

“ _Da’len_ is it? You can’t be that much older than I am, Solas.”

“And how old are you, _da’len_?”

“I’m 25. Old enough to be out of the first blush of youth, but young enough to know that I have much still to learn.” She answered good-naturedly. “And you?”

Solas rewarded her with a charming smirk

“…Older.”

Rather than being upset with his cryptic answer, she smiled wider and Solas found that he couldn’t stop his from doing the same.

“Of course, _hahren.”_

Solas felt a strange pull in his belly at her teasing and unconsciously reached out to take her hand. Realizing it, he snatched his hand back quickly, but not before Ellana had noticed and looked up at him with a quirked brow.

Chastising himself for his lapse in control, he tried to salvage the situation and use it to his advantage. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself from acting impulsively and nodded deferentially to her.

“Actually, Herald, I’ve been hoping to speak with you for some time. I know that you’re to leave for the Hinterlands soon, but I was hoping to have the opportunity to study the Mark on your hand. I must admit that it fascinates me and I should like to understand it as best I can.”

She seemed genuinely pleased by his request. “I would be happy to have you study it, Solas. I can only imagine that it would be helpful to everyone should you discover some of its secrets. I’m most curious about it as well, since it has attached itself to me. I’d be in your debt if you could find out where it came from and how it might be put to use.”

At the last mention, Solas stiffened. “How it might be put to use? So it is power that you seek, _da’len_?” He practically barked.

The look in her eyes was a wounded one.

“What? No, of course not! Wisdom, perhaps, but I have no desire for power.” She lowered her eyes and counted a beat before speaking again. “I enjoy being of service to others, not because I want them to be indebted to me, but because I am able. If I see a need and I am able to fulfill it, I am satisfied and filled myself with a feeling of purpose. I have no grand desire beyond that. If I’m able to use this Mark to help my clan, the people of Haven and beyond, then I feel compelled to bear the responsibility as best I can.”

She looked him in the eyes again, her gaze soft once more. “Solas, if you are able to help me understand this magic, I would be very grateful to you. I can only do what I’m able, but I _am_ willing to do my best.”

“ _Ir abelas, da’len._ I fear I am always apologizing. That Mark on your hand can only have come from someone or something of great power. There are many who would take advantage of that and I see how the villagers look at you. Power and awe are a heady mix.”

“I’m not angry that you would jump to that conclusion. I’m afraid I’ve become used to being misunderstood,” she replied sadly.

That surprised Solas. As he’d watched her these last few days in Haven, she’d seemed so sure of who she was.

“I’m not a fool, Solas. I know what they’re saying about me,” she threw up her hands and let them land with a slap on the top of her thighs.

“I don’t enjoy the attention and I find it harder to do the work I would choose when so many gazes are upon me. Without this mark on my hand I would choose to help anyway, but this complicates things.” She rubbed at the center of her palm where the Mark pulsed softly.

“I didn’t mean to dump this on you, truly.” She pulled herself up and stuck her chin out to give herself even just the illusion of courage again and pulled up her smile. “They can say what they’d like, I can only be who and what I am.”

Solas took his que from her, smiling warmly to put her back at her ease. It would not do to make her unwilling to spend time in his presence.

“The Chosen of Andraste,” he teased. “A blessed hero sent to save us all?”

Ellana relaxed a little bit more at his light tone. “Am I riding in on a shining steed?”

Solas found himself enjoying her quick wit and ability to move on. “I would have suggested a griffon, but sadly they’re extinct.”

That elicited a muffled giggle from her and he discovered that he very much wanted to hear it again. It took all of his mental strength to redirect his thoughts to a more practical direction.

“Joke as you will, posturing is necessary,” he advised, stepping away from her and turning to look out over the tall fence posts of Haven.

“I’ve journeyed deep into the fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations.”

He could not tell her that he lived them.

“I’ve watched as hosts of spirits clash to re-enact the bloody past in ancient wars, both famous and forgotten.” He turned to face her once again and found her listening intently.

“Every great war has its heroes. I’m just curious what kind you’ll be.”

Ellana shrugged “The kind that makes the world a better place. If I can’t do that, what point is there to being a hero at all?”

“It is not always that easy,” Solas smiled, “but I wish you luck.”

“I will stay then,” he assured her, “at least until the breach is closed.”

She looked surprised by this declaration. “Was that ever in doubt?”

He smiled at her wryly. “I am an apostate mage surrounded by Chantry forces and unlike you, I do not have a divine mark protecting me.”

Ellana nodded her understanding.

“Cassandra has been accommodating, but you understand my caution.”

He could see something come over her features, a protectiveness. She stepped toward him and laid a hand against his chest. “You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you.”

She sounded so certain, and the warmth of her hand sank into his skin, branding him there.

His voice dropped into a low tone and he whispered with more warmth than he intended, “How could you stop them?”

Her answer was slightly breathless. “Anyway I had to.”

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, looking away again to gain control of his thoughts.

He felt completely undone by her. There they were, standing out in the open and he was sure that if anyone else had been about, they would have been no doubt as shocked as he was about the intimate direction that their conversation had taken.

When he looked at her again, he couldn’t help but notice the flush that was back, how it flushed over her neck and tinted her cheeks, making him desperately want to brush his knuckles across them to feel the warmth of the blood beneath them.

Instead, he stepped back and cleared his throat.

“For now, let us hope that either the mages or the Templars have the power to seal the breach.”

Ellana blinked a few times and took her own steadying breath. “Yes, of course.” She said, letting her easy smile return.

“In the meantime, no one will be awake for some time, I imagine. I…I would very much like to continue our conversation, Solas. Perhaps while you studied the Mark?”

She looked up to the sky, letting the snow that had begun to fall melt on her flushed skin.

“Perhaps somewhere out of the snow?” He suggested and gestured toward his door.

“ _Ma nuvenin, hahren._ ” She laughed as she pushed open the door.

* * *

_Da’len – child_

_Hahren – someone older, an elder._

_Ir abelas – I’m sorry_

_Tel’abelas – I’m not sorry_

_Ma nuvenin – as you wish_


	4. Wisdom and Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas and Ellana talk in the privacy of Solas' cabin in Haven. She is so much more than he realized.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to get another chapter out! I have finally sold my home, but now I need to find a new one and I'm still in the midst of selling my business. My laptop was away for weeks and I've just now been able to keep her out long enough to get some writing in. I hope that you enjoy it. :) Kitty

Having the Herald in his room was slightly unsettling. This world offered him very little in terms of sanctuary and he hadn’t realized how much he valued his little hut in the mountains. It was the only place he felt he could cast off the cloak of his deception and allow his body and mind to simply be. In this barren little cottage, he could bring himself to his full stature and confidence and lay down his disguise of being a ragged hedgemage, but the Herald’s presence forced him to keep up the pretence and it irked him. He longed to be himself.

Surprisingly, the woman before him seemed to be the one to let go of a façade. He watched, enraptured, as she stood in the center of his space, tipped her head back, closed her eyes and breathed deeply. A tiny smile teased at the edge of her lips.

“You are pleased, _da’len_?” he asked when she opened her eyes to look at him. A quirked brow, the only hint of his amusement.

She bit her lip, shyly, and looked up at him from under her long, dark lashes. A flush of unintentional warmth flooded him.

“ _Ir abelas_ , Solas. Your rooms just smell like home to me. I – I had not expected it.” Her voice trembled so slightly that another man would have missed it…but he was not another man and his senses were extraordinary.

“What is it, _da’len_?” He asked gently and gestured for her to have a seat.

Instead of taking the chair, she sat at the edge of his small bed. To study the anchor, he realized that he would need to sit on the bed with her and some part of him was eager for the tiny amount of intimacy it would give them.

As he sat beside her and gingerly took her marked hand in his in a show of studying it, she sighed, longingly, though not at their contact. Her look was wistful.

“When I was very young, the First of our clan was a very kind woman. She was old, at the time, and even though mages are encouraged to have children to keep magic in the clan, she had no children at all. I was given to Clan Lavellan when I was six years old because they had no one else with magic to succeed the position of First and then that of Keeper.”

At the sight of Solas’ scowl at the idea that children were traded like goods, the Herald seemed to intuit his thoughts and squeezed the hand that held her marked one.

“It’s alright. I don’t remember much from that time, but I do know that my parents were gone. I don’t know how they died, but I know that they had. I believe I stayed with an aunt and uncle for a time. I don’t remember them either, but I remember feeling scared and alone and unwanted before I was given to Clan Lavellan. When I was brought to the First, she wrapped me up in blankets, gave me some sweet milk and put me to bed right away. I remember waking up in her aravel to this kind of a smell – it’s like a sweet patchouli, isn’t it? Patchouli and sandalwood and something else if I’m not mistaken?”

“You have an excellent nose, _da’len_. Patchouli, sandalwood and dawn lotus.”

“That’s what’s different!” she exclaimed. “We used crystal grace instead of dawn lotus, but it’s very similar.”

“Indeed,” he whispered, almost to himself, and couldn’t hold back the tiny smile in response to her exuberance. He brought her hand and the mark closer to his face and refocused on his task in an attempt to hide it.

“Yes, well…as I said, it smells like home. Nothing has been much like home in a very long time and… It’s very pleasant.” Ellana gave him a tentative smile.

“Then I am glad,” he offered genuinely.

They grew quiet as Solas studied the magic of the mark, pouring his magic and consciousness through the link between himself and it, more determined than ever to discover how it had attached itself to this young mortal. On occasion it would flare under his ministrations and she’d have to bite back a groan at the dull ache it brought with it. None of this was lost on him and he truly didn’t want to cause her unnecessary pain.

“Tell me about them,” he instructed to distract her from the discomfort he was causing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your clan, this First that took care of you. Tell me about them.”

“Well, I suppose that you can tell that I have a different accent than most of the Dalish you might have met?” At his nod of acknowledgement she continued. “My clan doesn’t exactly migrate the way others do. We’ve been in the Free Marches for a very long time and I suppose you could say that we’ve put down some roots. There are main camps where we stay seasonally and we have some excellent trade agreements with the villages nearby. At this time of year, we’re usually settled near Wycome. We spend nearly half the year there, longer if the weather holds. Some of our clan stay year round to keep trade open. The old Keeper, was a little wary of the humans at first and did keep us moving more often, but when he passed away, my Nan – I mean the First at the time, became Keeper and she encouraged us to settle in a little more. Life there has been very good and she has been very wise. I succeeded her as First and it was she who sent me to the Conclave, though she couldn’t have foreseen the consequences.” Her voice broke a little.

Solas was impressed. It was rare, in his experience, that any Dalish had the awareness to adapt so willingly, to make a better life for themselves, outside of the strict confines of their ‘culture’.

“I’ve never heard of any of the Dalish having such intentional interaction with others. Your Keeper sounds like a wise and formidable woman…and it does explain your accent. I _had_ wondered.”

“I’ve wondered about your accent as well, Solas,” Ellana mentioned. “It’s so unusal and not like any accent I’ve heard anywhere. Where did you grow up?”

Solas dropped his gaze from hers. What could he tell her? That he called Arlathan his home? That his accent was that of the Elvhen elite and the only way she might hear it elsewhere is in the deepest memories of the Fade?

He took her palm and held it closely to his face in the pretense that he was suddenly studying the anchor up close.

He cleared his throat.

“It is a very small village near Tevinter, very remote. I doubt it would show up on any map. You would not have heard of it… The mark,” he punctuated to draw attention away from himself, “has there been any new sensations that you’ve experienced with it? Anything that you can feel when it becomes active near a rift?”

A crease formed between Ellana’s eyes as she was thrown by his change of subject.

“Uh, no. No, I don’t think so. Nothing that I haven’t mentioned to you before. There’s a slight buzzing sensation when I get too close to a rift that makes my hand feel as though it’s full of pins and needles, but nothing new, no…Solas?”

“Yes, _da’len_?”

“Are you changing the subject on purpose?”

Her eyes sparked as she spoke and Solas was completely pulled in. She was sharp and clever in ways that he hadn’t seen in a very long time and yet those qualities were not used to manipulate or overpower those who were beneath her in intelligence and experience. Indeed, she showed a kind of patience and curiosity that reminded him of the best of his People.

“I wouldn’t say that. We did come here for the purpose of my studying the mark more thoroughly, after all. I would, however, be interested in hearing more about _you_.” His voice dropped in timbre. “I find my thoughts drawn to the vision of you as a young woman, training to be First of your clan. I would like to delve further into your…mystique. Tell me more?” he asked, offering her his most charming grin.

That seemed to discompose her. Her cheeks and ears flushed with colour and his eyes focused on the sight.

“Oh, uh,” she stuttered, “what can I tell you? I wasn’t much like the others of my age in the clan.”

That he could easily believe.

“I didn’t often socialize with the young hunters, though I greatly admired their energy and was jealous, more than once, of their adventures. I was more drawn to the Elder’s fires, than the forests. I fell asleep listening to the history of our People, as much as it could be remembered from the fragments passed down through the ages. I absorbed as much history, music and magical lore as each _hahren_ could offer. I loved visiting other clans, which we did as often as we could, and finding new teachers willing to put up with me.”

Ellana looked sheepishly at Solas for a moment before continuing.

“I admit that there were some Elders I thought filled with more wind than wisdom, but I discovered that there is no such thing as one person who knows everything. I learned that some things resonated with me more than others and I learned to filter through the information that I was given from each teacher to find what sat well within me and to discard what didn’t.”

Solas was enraptured. Without intending to, he shifted his seat until his knee brushed hers. Her breath caught for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure.

“I tried to learn that it was alright to change my mind about things as I learned more and to only keep the things that would help me grow - I do hope for the better.” Her smile was genuinely humble and Solas felt an unusual warmth grow in his core at the sight.

“That is impressive. I am curious, what were some of those thoughts that you chose not to take for yourself? I thought all Dalish _wisdom_ was assumed to be truth,” he said, perhaps a little too snidely, but couldn’t restrain himself.

“Hmm..." she thought out loud. “For one, I could never understand the bitterness and hatred toward humans, or any race for that matter. I understand that there has been a bloody history between us, but there are always bloody histories in every culture or clan. I have a feeling that we’ve warred with ourselves as often as we’ve warred with others, if some of the fighting between clans is any indication. I have only ever been wronged by individuals and I hold them solely responsible for their actions. I feel as though harbouring hatred for someone who has not wronged me is a waste of my energy. I have many people that I call ‘friend’ who are human or dwarven. They show me kindness and I offer them kindness in return. Humans, dwarves, even the Qunari, though I have never met one, have done terrible and wonderful things, the same as the elves and even the Elvhen that once were.”

Her passion lit up her face as she spoke forcefully. Her eyes sparked with life and Solas could feel the warmth he felt earlier in his core, recognizing it as a matching passion that was quickly spreading throughout his body in response to hers.

“Lies, rape, murder, betrayal, kindness, compassion, creation, destruction…,” she went on, gesturing wildly, “architecture, magic, art, inspiration, love - we, none of us, own them. I do my best not to judge others, but at the very least, I will not meet another with hate in my heart when it has not grown there from a seed that I planted intentionally,” she finished, slightly out of breath, her pulse beating rapidly beneath the luminous skin of her throat.

For a moment, Solas desperately wanted his mouth on that spot, a thought that startled him with his awareness of it.

The warmth that had suffused him pulsed and was answered by his magic that was contained in the palm of Ellana’s hand.

Her breath caught again and this time her eyes darkened at the same time as her cheeks. There was no mistaking the signs of arousal in her, but for the life of him, Solas didn’t know if it was his from the mark or her own that she was experiencing.

Ellana stood up quickly and turned away from him.

“ _Ir abelas._ I – I didn’t mean to let that get away from me,” she whispered, tamping down the intensity of her response.

“One need never apologize for passion, Herald.”

She turned to face him once again, her shrewd gaze telling him that the fact that he had not called her _da’len_ had not gone unnoticed.

“I believe I should go,” she said as she moved quickly toward the door. “I promised Cassandra that I would meet her this morning to go over the supply plans for our trip to the Hinterlands.”

Solas stood and followed her, his hand resting at the small of her back as he reached in front of her to open the door. He couldn’t refuse himself the opportunity to have contact with her again, however briefly. “Of course, I understand,” he said, the earlier warmth still present in his voice as it washed over her again.

Ellana stilled and turned in the doorway.

“Solas,” she paused for a breath. “Would you mind coming with us to the Hinterlands when we go? I could use a…friendly face there.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eyes as she spoke. Solas was thankful for it as he was sure that his smile was less friendly and more predatory.

“ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he answered and was pleased by the tiny shiver that ran through her body as she nodded and stepped out into the wintery morning.

 

*Ir abelas – I’m sorry

*da’len – child

*hahren – elder/teacher

*ma nuvenin – as you wish

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope that you've enjoyed it so far. I always welcome your comments and feedback and I'm so grateful for every hit, kudo, bookmark, comment and subscription.


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